An’ his knotted knees play’d aye knoit between;
What a sicht was Aiken-drum!
On his wauchie arms three claws did meet,
As they trail’d on the grim’ by his taeless feet;
E’en the auld gudeman himsel’ did sweat,
To look at Aiken-drum.
But he drew a score, himsel’ did sain,
The auld wife tried, but her tongue was gane;
While the young ane closer clespit her wean,
And turn’d frae Aiken-drum.